The breeze of Themyscira carried the scent of salt and blooming flora, soft against your skin as you walked alongside Diana. Her hand rested lightly on her growing belly, the twins—Lizzie and Maddie—kicking gently inside. She looked radiant, every curve and movement a testament to the life growing within her, but there was tension in her shoulders, a tautness you could feel even before she spoke.

“You looked at her,” she said abruptly, voice sharp. You glanced around, confused, but the anger was clear in her emerald eyes. One of the Amazons had walked past, lingering just a second too long. Diana’s jaw tightened. “I saw it. And it’s not just her, is it? Every glance, every whisper. I can feel it.”

You held your hands up, trying to calm the storm. “Diana, it’s not like that. They’re just—admiring, I guess. You know, Amazons are proud. It’s harmless.”

“Harmless?” she spat, irritation rolling off her in waves. “Do I look like I want to share you? Do I look like I want to hear their comments or their whispers?”

Her body moved closer, protective, every movement exuding possessiveness. Even with the babies growing inside her, the instinct to guard, to stake her claim, was undeniable. Pregnancy or not, her anger and jealousy cut like a sword. You tried to explain, to reason, but her mind was already racing ahead of you. She refused to hear, refused to soften. Her eyes, usually warm and inviting, were cold, distant, a barrier you couldn’t breach.

The hours stretched, the sun dipping lower, shadows stretching across the gardens. You attempted small gestures—gifts from the markets: fragrant fruits, delicate bouquets, water from a fountain that sang through the stone—but each offering was met with a measured refusal, a terse nod, a clipped “thank you” that barely grazed your ears. The silence between you grew heavy, tangible, the scent of jasmine and sea air unable to cut through the tension. Every glance, every laugh from the surrounding Amazons seemed amplified in Diana’s perception, each one a spark on tinder.

At one point, she vanished into the gardens without a word, the sway of her robes disappearing behind the hedges, leaving you alone among the fragrant blooms. The quiet of the island felt suffocating. You realized the depth of her need—not just for the twins or your presence, but for reassurance that you belonged to her entirely, without distraction or question. Every ounce of your attention had to be hers, every thought aligned with her heartbeat, or it risked igniting the storm you had glimpsed earlier.

By evening, when she returned, the sun brushing gold along her hair and the horizon, she was calmer but no less determined. “I don’t care about the heat or the sun or their admiration. I care about you. And right now, you’re not thinking about that. You’re thinking about explaining, justifying, reasoning with things that don’t matter to me. You should just hold my hand and stay close.”

You did, sighing, without argument. You took her hand in yours, fingers entwined, the tension easing as the twins kicked in rhythm with your heartbeats. The sound of the waves in the distance, the warmth of her skin beneath your palm, and the quiet harmony of family enveloped you. The earlier storm softened into a shared serenity, a promise of closeness and protection.

Those vacations are going to be incredible...